


Beard

by bell (bellaboo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the beard, Anakin thinks sometimes. But he knows better; the beard is just a symbol, a visual shortcut for something far more complex. Anakin, who has started to glare into the mirror, rubbing his fingers across his lower face to discover elusive hairs that declare manhood (just in case his sense of touch can pick out details his eyes are missing), is hyperaware of Obi-Wan's facial hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beard

It's the beard, Anakin thinks sometimes. But he knows better; the beard is just a symbol, a visual shortcut for something far more complex. Anakin, who has started to glare into the mirror, rubbing his fingers across his lower face to discover elusive hairs that declare manhood (just in case his sense of touch can pick out details his eyes are missing), is hyperaware of Obi-Wan's facial hair.

It isn't jealousy. That would be simple. Anakin is jealous of many things, like Padmé's guardians who get to see her every day (and dress her, and dress up as her). Jealousy is familiar, and he has developed ways of dealing (denying) the green-eyed monster.

No, Anakin isn't jealous of Obi-Wan (at this moment, anyway). There is nothing to be jealous of, nothing more than the years that separate them. Anakin knows that given that same time period he will rise to be better than Obi-Wan; better at fights, better at piloting, better at controlling himself. He is better with the Force, which is all that matters.

It is a new feeling: an itch he doesn't know where to scratch.

He strides forward, to where Obi-Wan is sitting reading, and places his hands on either side of Obi-Wan's face, rubbing his palm against the scratchy surface.

Strange, he thinks. He doesn't want the beard for himself. He wants to feel it.

In a tone of ever-suffering matyrdom, Obi-wan asks: "What are you doing, Padawan?"

"Just curious," he lies. "I'm tired of waiting for one of my own." To tell this man, to whom he tells everything, of the feeling inciting him to this, would be impossible. For one thing, he doesn't know what words to use.

"And how is this satisfying your curiosity?"

Up until now Anakin has been leaning over the panel Obi-Wan was reading; but Obi-Wan has now pushed said panel aside, giving Anakin the space to sit on his lap. This isn't the first time they've taken this position, though with a sudden flash of clairvoyance Anakin knows that it'll be the last.

"I want to know how it feels like. I've always wanted to know." He has lifted his palms off from Obi-Wan's face, letting his finger-tips do all the touching. Beneath him, Obi-Wan shifts his legs. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"No," he answers quickly. "You're just not as light as you once were." The shifting stops, though Anakin can feel tension in Obi-Wan's muscles. Anakin tries changing position, leaning higher up on his thighs, to see if that improves matters.

"I'm a growing boy, that's why."

"I know. Three inches in as many months."

"You keep track?"

"Who's the one who ordered your latest set of robes?"

"Point." By now Anakin has stopped moving around, there seems to be no way to keep Obi-Wan comfortable. Well, his Master will just have to suffer this a bit longer. "Say," he asks, touching the shorter bristles of Obi-Wan's moustache, "why did you grow this? You looked pretty good without it."

Anakin is surprised when Obi-Wan takes his hands by the wrists and lays them gently into his lap. Then he retracts his own hands and crosses his arms. "There was no particular reason. It's easier than shaving every day. And people are hung up on looks. They're more likely to respect someone who looks like a man."

"That's it?"

Obi-Wan smiles. "Did you expect more?"

"I thought you'd at least like how it looks."

"I do. But vanity isn't becoming of a Jedi."

Anakin rolls his eyes. "How about lying?"

"Fine. I think it's dashing. No one will ever say 'no' to me again."

"No?"

"No."

The way that Obi-Wan smirks, his lower face shifts, as does the light hitting the hairs of his beard. Anakin wishes that his hands were still on Obi-Wan's face, and as he thinks this, he wonders what it would be like to touch it with other parts of his body. Like with his own cheek. Maybe then the hair could be transferred through mere touch, and Anakin could have a beard of his own at last.

And he would try this theory out, were Obi-Wan not gently pushing him off his lap. "My legs are numb," he complains, stands up, and stretches. Now that Anakin is on his feet, he realizes that he himself is numb on the back of his thighs, the bottom of his ass. As he starts to use his legs again, darts prick painfully at his muscles.

"Is it for Qui-Gon?" The funny thing about Obi-Wan is, if there's one word that'll make him pause and take note, it's his Master's name.

"Is what?" Obi-Wan asks, and Anakin can tell that he's feigning non-challance.

"Your beard." He tries to stand taller as he's scrutinized, long and hard, by Obi-Wan.

"You're too old for your age," Obi-Wan concludes at last, and pats him on the shoulder.


End file.
